


Five Times Face Couldn't Get It Up (and the one time he couldn't make it go away)

by therealfroggy



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title is fairly self-explanatory. Five times Face couldn't get it up, and the one time he couldn't make it go away. Written in response to a kink meme at LiveJournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Face Couldn't Get It Up (and the one time he couldn't make it go away)

**One**  
Face had wanted Hannibal for _so long_ and he just couldn't take it any more. Just seeing his impossibly hot, authoritative, loyal colonel every day was killing him; let alone the closeness of their team, with pats on the back and relaxed grins and the _shared showers_ ; the fucking shared showers. Finally, Face decided to drink himself to courage and just go for it. He belted down a few (okay, so eight) glasses of whisky and waited, then pounced on Hannibal the moment the colonel entered their barrack.

“I think I love you,” Face blurted, then pressed his lips sloppily to Hannibal's. Their tongues met surprisingly quickly and the taste was a mix of whisky and cigars; very manly, thought Face in his drunken state.

“Really, kid?” Hannibal growled, sounding too damn sexy for his own good. “Are you that drunk, or should I actually start to regret that I didn't bring lube?”

Face groaned and pressed himself to Hannibal, his arms around Hannibal's neck like an enthusiastic limpet to a coral reef (and that thought made him giggle, even with Hannibal's tongue in his mouth).

“Want you to fuck me, boss,” Face whispered loudly, gazing cross-eyed up at Hannibal as they staggered towards the closest bunk. “Please?”

Hannibal made a strange noise into the skin of Face's throat, following the younger man down on the itchy blanket. “You want that, Face? Want me to own that pretty ass of yours?”

“Not really, since you don't have lube,” Face rambled, happily, drunkenly and painfully honestly. “I mean, I've been after you like a desperate school girl for years and you just haven't noticed; it's fucking annoying, boss, how you don't see what's right in front of you. So, yeah, I'd like you to fuck me, but I'm not going to let you do me dry, y'know? Maybe Murdock's got some lube; I think he uses machine oil...”

Hannibal looked straight into Face's eyes, his hand frozen on the fly of the conman's pants. “You're not very into this, are you?”

Face wasn't hard. Not even halfway. It happens, you know, when there's too little blood in your alcohol circulation, he thought vaguely. He fumbled around Hannibal's shirt buttons for a moment, trying to loosen them, but Hannibal batted his hands away.

“Maybe we should do this some other time, Face. Sometime you're not so deep into an alcohol-induced stupor you can't get it up,” the colonel said gently.

Face was already snoring into the pillow.

 **Two**  
Fucking Hannibal! Face almost snarled as he stalked into the local shithole of a bar and quickly scanned the area for attractive females. There were a few pretty brunettes, a blonde with too much make-up and not enough clothes, a stunning black girl in a pink top and a few angry-looking, short-haired specimens over in a corner.

Face made a beeline for the girl in the pink top, smiling his way straight through her defences and offering her a drink. It was child's play from there; compliment her subtly, distract her from all the other guys in the bar, dance with her and finally, when she'd had two cocktails too many for prudence, offer her a ride back to her place.

Yeah. It was simple. So simple, in fact, that Face had a lot of time to think about his incredibly annoying colonel during the cab ride.

Where did the man think he got off, ignoring him like that? Face had placed his ass on the line, admitted to Hannibal that not only was he apparently interested in men (and that was a big deal, considering he was stationed in an army camp full of DADT enforcing dickheads), but he also had a major thing for his silver-haired colonel. Face had gone out on a limb, damn it, and what was his reward?

To have Hannibal ignore him, that's what. Not a word, not a kiss, no nothing – and the worst thing was, Face couldn't even remember what he'd said or not said that night. Or what Hannibal had said. Or what they'd _done_ ; Christ, Face didn't remember if he'd even gotten to kiss Hannibal again! He remembered nothing beyond the first time he threw himself at the older man.

“You coming?” the girl said, looking over her shoulder at him as she unlocked her door, and yeah, she was gorgeous. Full lips, round hips and a nicely filled-out pair of jeans, just a bit of cleavage showing over that top...

Face followed her inside, grinning darkly. He needed a distraction, and here it was.

Face left, shamefaced and angry, an hour later, when he'd not even managed to get hard when she took his dick into his mouth. There was something seriously wrong with his head, he thought as he hurried out the door, careful not to meet her eyes and see the confused disappointment in them. Something seriously wrong, and it was all Hannibal's fault.

**Three**   
_Come on, you can do this, Templeton. You're Face; you're the Faceman! Nobody, not even straight guys, can resist you! You know him; you know what makes him tick. You know he wouldn't use this against you, even if he didn't feel the same way; what are you worried about? Nothing! That's right! So go get'm, tiger!_

But Face _was_ worried, and his little internal pep-talk in front of the mirror only highlighted that fact. What if Hannibal didn't even like guys? What if Hannibal liked guys in general, but not him in particular? What if Hannibal liked him well enough to fuck, but then just wanted to get on with his life? What if BA or Murdock called and said they'd gotten all the intel they needed, and it was time to abandon the safe-house before he'd even finished his planned seduction?

Too many what ifs. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Face took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and stepped out of the small bathroom he and Hannibal shared in the crowded little shack they were holed up in while waiting for BA and Murdock.

Hannibal was sitting on the bed, boots off, legs stretched out on the disturbingly flower-patterned duvet. He was smoking one of his cigars, arms crossed thoughtfully across his chest. “You done in there, kid?” he asked, getting off the bed when Face began padding across the room, suddenly self-conscious of his shirtless state.

As Hannibal closed the door to the bathroom behind him, Face let out a shaky breath. Damn it, he was going to do this! He was going to get naked, lie down in Hannibal's bed, and give the colonel his best bedroom eyes when he got back in the bedroom. It was a failsafe plan; it couldn't possibly not work. Face stripped.

When Hannibal exited the bathroom four point three minutes later, Face was lying stretched out on the bed, one leg slightly bent at the knee, his arms thrown casually (and carefully) above his head. He turned his head slowly towards Hannibal and grinned. “Coming to bed?”

The plan was failsafe, all right. Hannibal threw his own shirt to the floor, unbuckled his belt and shoved his trousers down, and then he was joining Face on the creaky, old bed, naked save for his shorts. Face's chest tightened. This was it. This was when he finally caught the old fox.

“Looking good, Face,” Hannibal murmured, kissing his way down the younger man's neck. The colonel's teeth moved around a nipple and Face hissed.

The nerves and anticipation were a tight bundle of discomfort in Face's stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to shut everything out. _He doesn't feel the same. Fuck, Face, you've gone and fallen in love with a guy who's only in it for the sex. Oh, come on, Peck, man up! Who cares if he is; this is_ Hannibal _and you'd do anything for just a piece of this, remember? Just bend over and enjoy it._

Very conflicting mantras, Face concluded. He bit his lip, hard, and waited for Hannibal to move further down his body.

“Kid?”

Uh-oh. Hannibal had probably noticed his little, uh, lack of blood distribution in the crotch area. If only he hadn't been so nervous, things would have looked completely different just about there.

“Your lips say yes but your body says no. Funny, I always thought it was the other way around,” Hannibal said, leaning up on one elbow and looking down at his lieutenant. “How come you keep throwing yourself at me when you're not... interested?”

Face groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I'm sorry! I'm just... fuck, Hannibal, I'm sorry, I'll... Can't I just give you a blowjob?”

Hannibal chuckled, and then Face found himself gathered up in a pair of deliciously strong arms and pressed close to his colonel, back to Hannibal's chest.

“Don't worry about it,” Hannibal assured him, the colonel's voice a smooth rumble in his ear. “It happens. Just relax, try to sleep, and it'll sort itself out. And now that I know this isn't some drunken mistake, I'll still be here in the morning.”

Face grinned into the pillow. “And if it, uh, gets back up?”

“Tomorrow, Templeton.”

 **Four**  
“You want me to call you _what_?”

Hannibal looked away, the faintest of blushes tinting his cheeks. “Forget it. Never mind. Let's just... get to the fucking part.”

But Face, brow furrowed, rolled out from under his colonel and sat on the edge of the bed. “Seriously, Hannibal?”

“No. I mean, yeah, I was being serious. But I get it, you don't... like that. Can we please just forget I said anything?” Hannibal said, and there was a warm hand on Face's shoulder.

Face got up, wordlessly, and wandered into the hallway of their current safe-house. He could hear the TV from the living room; Murdock was watching his cartoons again. Face went across the hallway and entered the bathroom on the other side, closing the door behind him. He sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, wearing nothing but his shorts.

Normally, Face would be ecstatic to indulge in any little kink Hannibal mentioned. They'd tried a lot of exciting stuff. And most of the time, it was all extremely hot – because it was Hannibal. But this last request, it just... hit a little too close to home, Face realized, and scrubbed his hands over his suddenly tired eyes.

“Face?”

Face was indescribably glad Hannibal didn't call him kid just then. The older man came in silently, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

“You okay?”

“I'm sorry, I can't,” Face said, refusing to look at Hannibal. “I mean, it's... Not tonight.”

Hannibal sighed, but crouched down next to Face – also dressed in nothing but his underwear. “I'm sorry, kid, I didn't mean to freak you out. Want me to bunk with BA tonight?”

Face got up and pulled himself together, then took Hannibal's arm and dragged him towards their room. “I want you to sleep next to me without getting frisky. Think you can do that, old man?”

Hannibal crawled into the bed after him and nuzzled his cheek apologetically. “Yeah. I can do that.”

 **Five**  
Face stared down at Hannibal. He couldn't _stop_ staring. His colonel was covered in bruises; it wasn't simply a matter of having a shiner and a few scrapes, no, Hannibal was yellow, black, purple and red – no trace of his tan to be seen. What little skin wasn't bruised or broken, was covered in filth and grime.

“Move, Facey,” Murdock told him, surprisingly focused, and shoved him out of the way to get the sponge and bucket to Hannibal. Face shook himself and began helping. After a goodish bit of meticulous, gentle scrubbing, Murdock and Face had Hannibal clean enough to begin dressing his wounds. BA burst into the room with a score of pills and bandages, and in short order they had Hannibal covered up like a mummy.

Then Hannibal asked Murdock and BA to go out and get them all something unhealthy to eat, and the two team members scurried, assuring Hannibal before they left that they'd get him the biggest, meanest cheeseburger in history.

Face almost collapsed onto the bedside next to Hannibal. They'd laid him out in the king-size bed in the upstairs bedroom in the old house they'd managed to sneak into; everything was old and worn, but serviceable. Face couldn't stop himself from taking Hannibal's hand, turning it over gently in his own. They'd had to pull back two of his fingers so they'd set right before bandaging them.

“God, Hannibal.”

“Not exactly your old silver fox now, eh, kid?” Hannibal said, and his voice was barely a gravelly grind of sound.

“I'm so sorry, Hannibal; we should have found you earlier -” Face began, but Hannibal cut him off with a lazy gesture.

“You found me. You killed them. You got the client out in time. You did everything right, kid, and I'm proud of you. Of all of you. I'm just a little worse for wear; nothing to worry about. A few cracked ribs, a tooth gone, you already took care of my fingers... It's nothing that won't heal, Face. But I won't be pretty to look at for a while,” he said, and smiled as wide as his cracked, dry lips would allow.

Face had to look away. “Hannibal, it's...”

“I've been held in a hole in the ground for twenty-six days, Face. You've cleaned me up, you've fed me, rehydrated me, dressed all my injuries... I'm good. You know what I was thinking about, every single day? Every night when they put me back in that hole?”

Face shook his head, daring to meet Hannibal's steely blue gaze. It was still blue, and still uniquely Hannibal.

“You, Face. You, and that cocky smile of yours, and your body, and the sounds you make when I fuck you,” Hannibal said, and damn it if his voice wasn't getting growly. “I thought about you, and what I wanted to do to you, and what you've _let_ me do to you, until I was hard from just imagining it. Then I jerked off, still thinking about you. You know what I need, now that I'm finally out of that place? You.”

Face grimaced. “Boss, you need to rest.”

“I need you,” Hannibal persisted. “Please, kid. Don't make me last another day without touching you.”

Face leaned over and kissed Hannibal as softly as he could; as gently as he knew how. He just brushed the colonel's lips with his, then drew back a little. He wasn't even _considering_ getting aroused. But Hannibal was already there; there was that bulge under the covers, there was that heat in Hannibal's gaze. And Face didn't even consider refusing him, either.

Hannibal came into Face's mouth a surprisingly short while later. Face then shed his clothes, climbed into the bed, and lay next to Hannibal – not touching, not aggravating the colonel's bruises, merely being there. When Hannibal raised an eyebrow towards Face's still unenthusiastic cock, Face just nuzzled at the older man's hand and said, “This one's on me, boss.”

They slept.

 **And One**  
Face writhed on the bed, bucking his hips into thin air. His breathing was laboured, his mouth hung open, his abdomen twitched with sensation. He was so. fucking. horny!

“Fuck,” Face muttered, feverishly trying to turn around to find friction against the sheets. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He was alone, and he was horny. Why not take matters into his own hands? Well, Face would have, except for the fact that his right hand was in a cast, and the last two fingers on his left were bandaged together so he looked like Spock. Or the Penguin. Or whatever. The point was, with only three available fingers, and only on his left hand, he just couldn't do anything about his hard-on. He'd tried giving it a few tugs at first, but that only made him harder and no matter how he tried, he couldn't bring himself to come with only three fingers.

It wasn't as if he was ambidextrous, either.

It had all started when he'd woken up with a typical case of morning wood two days ago. His hands were already bandaged at the time, so he couldn't do anything about it. Hannibal was still gone on a stake-out somewhere, and he wasn't about to ask Murdock or BA for a helping hand. So Face had been half-hard for the better part of the morning before he decided to do something about it. Cold showers; that usually worked.

Except all it did was leave him feeling frustrated and grumpy. And he still had those fucking bandages on, leaving him practically helpless. And the next morning, it had been exactly the same. Wake up with a hard-on, unable to do something about it, douse oneself in cold water, and feel one's balls growing steadily bluer.

Face swore loudly again. This was the third morning in a row he'd woken up with wood, and he really, really wanted to take care of it. He'd tried using the three first fingers of his left hand. He was now fully hard; so hard his dick seemed to _throb_ with the need to come. But he just couldn't; no matter how he tried. And with the cast on his hand, he couldn't just roll over like that, either. He had to be careful.

“Fuck!”

“Well, if you're offering...”

Face's eyes snapped to the door to his bedroom. There stood Hannibal, looking a little rumpled, but all the more delicious since Face hadn't seen him for three days. There was stubble on his cheeks. The cigar was clamped unlit between his teeth, bared in a wide grin. His shirt was really, really tight and Face could just about see the outline of every hair in Hannibal's treasure trail.

Face was suddenly very aware that he was lying naked and bandaged on a bed, cock hard and red, while Hannibal was just watching him, the colonel still fully dressed. The thought made Face even harder, and he moaned into the pillow.

“Please, Hannibal, just make me come and I'll let you do whatever you want,” Face whined. “It's been like this for two days! I really, _really_ need you to touch me right now!”

Hannibal chuckled and shed his boots, holster and belt, then joined Face on the bed, stroking a soothing palm down the younger man's flank. “Easy, kid; I can do that. It's been bad, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Face said through gritted teeth. “Hannibal!”

“Calm down, I'm getting there,” Hannibal growled, then turned Face firmly onto his back and held him there. The steady touch of Hannibal's calloused hand on his dick made Face cry out in relief, then moan with pleasure as Hannibal fisted his erection and began stroking quickly. Flick, stroke, _just like that_ and oh!

Face came, his body convulsing with the force of it. Hannibal milked him until he was done and then wiped his hand on the sheet, lying down next to Face. “Good?”

“Mm. I knew there was a reason I love you,” Face gasped, still heaving for breath. “Shit, Hannibal!”

Hannibal let him calm down while he told him about the stakeout, the new intel they had, Murdock's latest stunt to get BA on a plane. Hannibal held him, stroking his back pleasantly and just talked about this and that. Face leaned in to inhale the scent of Hannibal; cigars, gun fire, leather gloves, sun. He breathed in his boss and pressed against him until Hannibal began talking about BA's van, and then he nudged his CO a little.

“Hannibal.”

“Hmm?” the older man replied, still absently stroking Face's back.

“You think you could... give me a hand again?”

Hannibal looked down, then back up with a grin. “Again? What, doesn't it ever go away?”

Face didn't even bother blushing. He just rolled to his back under Hannibal and pulled on the colonel's hips until the latter took the hint and began rutting against him, driving their erections together until they both groaned and came on both sides of Hannibal's pants.

It did go away. Eventually. With a little help from Hannibal.


End file.
